


Kill Your Heroes

by Rebness



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Allison Argent, Breaking Bad AU, Character Death, Derek Has Issues, Drug Use, F/M, Lydia is Perfect, M/M, Stiles Angst, Terminal Illnesses, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:41:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1316935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebness/pseuds/Rebness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there were ever going to be a science genius-turned-badass, it'd be Lydia Martin. With Stiles as her lab partner, bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

'Miss Martin?'

A polite cough.

'Miss Martin?' This time a little louder, more forceful.

The office came back into sharp focus; the buzzing in her ears disappeared. The sounds of the hospital were a sharp rap to her senses, disrespectful, in a way: the world kept going while her life crashed down around her.

The doctor gave her a sympathetic smile. 'If you wish, I can get a counsellor in to--'

'No, no,' she said. She held up her hand, pursed her lips. 'Esophageal cancer. Inoperable.' She grasped a lock of her hair contemplatively. 'We don't just have to go the palliative route, right? We can try -- what about TR100?'

There was a flare of respect in his attitude now. 'I'm so sorry,' he said, and he did sound sorry. 'That drug is only slated for human trials in 2015. For now, we have to commence an immediate course of chemotherapy--'

She let go of the lock of hair, clapped her hands together. 'Fine. We'll do it.'  

'Do you want time to talk to your parents?'

'I'm a fully grown woman. This is my decision. And we are going to go for it.'

'Good. We'll get you scheduled in for Monday, if you're willing to do that.' 

She smiled brightly. 'Oh, of course. It's not like I have a crowded social calendar at 25.'

'Miss Martin--'

'Please,' she said, standing up to collect her purse and coat.  'I think I'm allowed to be a little flippant today.'

  


**

 

$7,012.23.

Lydia stared at the balance again. Well, this was going to buy perhaps 20 minutes of chemotherapy.  The insurance company was doubtlessly already going over her details with a magnifying glass, looking for an escape route. 25-year-olds were not supposed to cost them big bucks. 25-year-olds who didn't smoke didn't face a death sentence from esophageal cancer.

_Stop. Sometimes they do. Sometimes it just happens._

She closed the app on her phone and leaned back in the car seat, staring at the house ahead of her. Beautiful 1930s home, with original features, a large garden. She'd tried to discuss the art deco light fixtures with Scott once; his eyes had glazed over. She would have appreciated such a home instead of her bland condo, but it was destined to be wasted on the likes of good-natured Scott. Being a plumber paid a damned sight more than a chemistry teacher. And Allison -- well, DEA agents seemed to do just fine. Being smart didn't count for much when you couldn't fix a leaking tap or kick down the door of some drug baron.

With a sigh, she exited the car, straightened her dress and checked her hair (such lovely hair, her crowning glory -- she swallowed the lump in her throat) and entered the house.

Inside was a large gathering of people. Scott was still wildly popular in his mid-twenties; she didn't know most of the people there, so made a beeline for Allison.

'Hey, you!' said Allison, hugging her tightly. 'I'm glad you could make it.' She gestured to the counter. 'You want a drink?'

'White wine,' she said. 'Just one, though - I have to drive myself back.'

Allison gave her an emphatic smile. She hated it. Yes, yes, she was still alone. No, she hadn't found her Scott. Yes, she was fine with that. No, she didn't need any dating advice.

'So,' she began. 'Get up to anything good lately--'

Allison nodded. 'Oh, you know. Yesterday was pretty fun.' She poured out some wine and handed the glass to Lydia. 'We took down a mid-level dealer. In fact, it made the news. Scott's got the DVR ready to show everyone.' She shook her head. 'He gets more excited about these things than Stillinski and I do.'

'You have to admit that his enthusiasm is infectious,' said Lydia, smiling.

'It is,' Allison agreed. 'It's why I love the big goofball.' She gazed at Scott, who was holding court over a group of rapt listeners.

'You're good together,' said Lydia, meaning it.

Allison smiled. 'Thank you. But how are you? I haven't seen you for weeks. Do you have any news for me?' She gave a conspiratorial smile. 'Any gossip?'

Lydia shook her head, gave a small shrug. 'No, not really. I mean, today I--'

'Come on, guys! Are we going to watch this or not?' called a voice from the other room.

Allison tutted. 'Sorry, you were saying?'

She waved a hand. 'No, it's fine. Come on, let's see this raid.'

 

~

 

The assembled crowd of partygoers watched in silence as on the huge flat-screen TV,  Stillinski (now promoted from Sheriff to DEA agent - he suited the dark uniform better, Lydia thought) was being interviewed by a reporter. They'd busted a large meth lab. The camera tracked through a squalid room full of glass bottles, countless boxes of cold medicine, acetone and matches. It came to rest on a table top littered with pile upon pile of dollar bills.

Lydia almost choked on her drink. 'Is-- is that how much these dealers make?' she said finally.

'Well, crime does pay,' said Allison. Her face hardened. 'Until we catch you.'

Scott took a swig of his beer. 'This isn't that big of a haul, is it, babe?'

Allison shook her head. 'No, I mean -- it's a pretty good haul of cash, but really, it's better to get hold of the equipment.  Meth labs are just so prolific these days that the proper equipment is ridiculously expensive. But you get a good product -- these people were running on 67% purity -- and you can charge what you want.' She sighed. 'People are paying through the nose for a drug which rots them from the inside out.'  

The camera cut to Allison herself, who was directing the clean-up operation. Everyone clapped and cheered when she came onscreen, and she waved her hand self-deprecatingly. 'Oh, stop. It's just my job.'

'I wish my job was even half as exciting,' murmured Lydia.

'You want to come on a ride along with me?' said Allison.

'What?'

'Come on,' said Allison. 'You can see how much of my time is spent playing Sudoku while I sit outside some dealer's house and wait for them to go walk their dog or something.' She shrugged. 'It'll send you running back to the classroom for sure.'

Lydia took a sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving the screen. 'All right,' she said. 'Deal.'

 

~

 

Time dragged on, and as the party was beginning to wind down, Scott sat in the den opening his presents from the assembled guests.

Lydia felt a cold rush of fear when she realised that each gift seemed to be successively more expensive and flashier. What would everyone think of her when he reached her cheap present? She'd done her best on her budget, but they wouldn't think that. They'd wonder why Scott and Allison kept an underachieving, sentimental person in their social circle. She felt dizzy with anxiety as Scott picked up her gift; she made to leave the room, only to freeze in place when he read out the card:

 

' _To Scott, from Lydia. Never change_.'

 

His warm gaze sought her out in the crowd. He gave her a happy nod before tearing open the wrapping. He stared down at the picture for a short while, his expression inscrutable.

Lydia felt a blush rising to her cheeks. _Great._ It had been a foolishly sentimental gift. He probably didn't live in the past the way she did, and how cheap did she look now? All these expensive gifts for him and she gave him a picture--

'Lydia,' he said finally.

'Yes?'

He looked up at her, his expression earnest. 'I love it. This -- yeah, it means a lot.' He raised his bottle of beer. 'To friends, past and present.'

Everyone raised their drinks and toasted. Scott passed the photo to Allison, who regarded it fondly. Lydia couldn't help but feel guilty and pleased; she shouldn't judge Scott for being ignorant of art deco fixtures. They were good people, her favourite people.

The original photograph was her favourite possession: a warm June night when they'd attended an outdoor screening of _The Departed_. They'd just graduated high school and sworn they'd all keep in touch, but these things rarely worked out and their close-knit group had drifted apart before she'd found Scott and Allison again on returning to their hometown.

Allison was giving Scott that same dreamy, content look she had for him now. Lydia stared at the camera (she couldn't remember who had taken the picture) with a hopeful, happy smile; she'd been slightly tipsy, and full of love for her companions. To her left was Stiles Stillinski, clean-cut, caught forever excitedly telling her about some great plan of his.

She felt a pang as she handed the photo frame back to Scott. _Everything falls apart._

 

~

 

'Okay,' said Stillinski, turning the engine off and sitting back in his seat. 'So here's the deal: four agents to the front, six to the back. There are sliding doors to the back yard, so we'll need more cover there. It seems the lab is in the kitchen area, anyway - that's where the neighbour says the worst of the smell is.'

Lydia shook her head. Cooking crystal meth in a closely-packed neighbourhood, with windows cracked open? Amateurs. She could smell the putrid mess of chemicals from here.

Allison nodded. 'Right.'

Stillinski  held up a photograph. 'This little shit is one of our targets today: Isaac Lahey. Our contact tells us that he's teamed up with an utter waste of space called Captain Cook for low-level dealing.' He looked troubled, confused for a moment, but the expression was gone from his face almost immediately. 

'So a minor raid.'

Stillinski smiled. 'Don't look so put-upon, Argent. We can't have the half-million hauls every day.'

Lydia leaned forward. 'I thought this was to show me how boring your job is,' she said with a smirk.  

Allison laughed. 'Fine, it's boring sometimes. You got me.' She pulled out her gun. 'Are we ready?'

'Wait for the signal,' said Stillinski. He gestured to the men clad in black who were running toward the house. 'They have to wear gas masks, because of the fumes--'

'Red phosphorus,' said Lydia. 'It's highly toxic.' She gave a bright smile. 'They use it in rat poison.'

'Um, right. Yeah.'

'Do you think I can see the lab, after you've raided the place?'

Allison frowned. 'Why?'

'Science,' she said. 'You know how it interests me.'

Allison and Stillinski shared a look. 'Er, yeah. Why not,' said Stillinski. 'We'll have to check the coast is clear first.'

Allison leaned forward as one of the DEA agents waved a hand. 'Let's go!' she snapped.

'Stay here!' said Stillinski, gesturing at Lydia. He slammed the car door shut.

What followed was utter confusion. Lydia couldn't see much, but she heard the bullets and shouting. Several agents ran into the house. She listened and watched, making mental notes: containment of the smell was necessary. Somewhere open, away from suspicious neighbours. Gas masks. These idiots had a mole in their midst, so secrecy was of utmost importance. Now, lab supplies--

She was arrested in her train of thought by movement nearby. A window in the adjoining house cracked open. A naked man scrambled onto the low roof below the window, as a woman threw out a pair of jeans for him. He attempted to put them on but ended up somersaulting from the roof and landed on the lawn with an audible cry of pain.

Lydia gasped in horror. 'Stiles?'

Looking very young, very hungry -- a little worse for wear -- Stiles Stillinski stood up straight, peering around the corner to where his own father was storming the house. He glanced wildly about, his mouth dropping open when he realised he was being watched by none other than Lydia Martin.

Without missing a beat, he raised a finger to his lips. _Shush. Don't give me away_.

A little presumptuous, Lydia felt, but she didn't have time to react as he sprinted right past her to the car right next to where Stillinski had parked the DEA vehicle and flung himself in. Lydia unfastened her seatbelt and tumbled from the vehicle. She watched as he tore off down the street.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles got out of his car and pulled the gates to his property open. He looked exhausted. The raid had taken place at dawn and it was now nightfall; he had clearly avoided the house all day. He got back into the car and parked it in the driveway. Now he slunk along the side of the car, watching his house, checking for movement within.

‘Stiles?’

He gasped and fell back against the car, peering into the darkness. ‘Who’s there?’ he said. Then, more forcefully, ‘Yo, who’s there! Get off my property!’

Lydia stepped from the shadows. She gave him a tolerant look as he swore under his breath. ‘You’ve lost weight,’ she said finally.

‘Spare me the intervention crap, okay? How many of them did Scott make me sit through, holding a goddamn _talking pillow_ before you finally gave up, huh?’

‘How many interventions did you want?’ she said crossly.

He spread his hands. ‘Uh, none?’

Lydia closed her eyes, counted to ten. She opened them again and walked over to the gates, shutting them decisively.

‘Hey, can you leave, please?’

‘No. I have a proposition for you.’

‘What?’

‘You lost your partner today. I saw him being dragged off by the DEA -- that’s why you’re so panicked, right?’ She smiled. ‘Don’t be. He hasn’t talked about you.’

Stiles let out a relieved sigh. ‘And you haven’t, I guess?’

‘No, but I still might.’

He started. ‘What? Why!’

‘You know, that vehicle I was in this morning? I was with Allison Argent. And your father.’

He gave her a sombre look. ‘So?’

‘So you almost got caught. And your operation -- it was so shambolic, Stiles! It smelled like cat pee halfway up the street. The DEA will just love it when -- not if, when -- you get caught and they realise one of their own agents failed to turn in a known meth dealer.’

‘Fuck you,’ he said heatedly. ‘He never caught me.’

‘He knows you’re a dealer,’ she said. ‘His voice wavered when he mentioned your silly pseudonym.’ She shrugged. ‘He called you a waste of space, granted, but we should let that slide given your current situation.’

Stiles looked pained, and her old protective love for him came rushing back. She reeled with the magnitude of what she had said, but then the hate came, too: she remembered the times he had stolen from her, how Scott had wept and pleaded with everyone to give him another chance, how he’d used them all like fools again and again, and how many times she herself had cried for him.

‘Why are you doing this to me, Lydia?’ he said finally.

‘There’s a lot of money in it, isn’t there?’

He gave her a challenging look. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Don’t be precious with me, Stiles. Let’s skip straight to the point, shall we: I want in.’

He scowled. ‘What?’

‘You heard me. You’ve lost your partner. Your cook was terrible -- I saw your set-up. Amateur! I could do it better blindfolded.’

Stiles reached into his pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes. He pulled one and placed it into his mouth. ‘You? Cooking meth?’ he said with a laugh as he lit up. ‘Fine, I get it. You want to prove how it feels when a friend goes to the dark side. Thanks for the life lesson, Mr. Feeny. Now go away.’

‘You’ll let me be your partner,’ she said. ‘Because if you don’t, I will turn you in.’

The icy control in her voice gave him pause. He turned to stare at her. ‘You wouldn’t do that. It doesn’t make sense--’

‘I mean it,’ she said evenly. ‘You can partner up with me and we’ll make money, or you just go on inside and wait for me to call the cops. It’s your choice.’

‘Scott and Allison--’

‘They’ll never know about this,’ she said firmly. ‘This is between us. You and I, Stiles. We need each other right now. You know the business and I know the chemistry. We'll be perfect together.'

‘Why are you playing me like this!’ he exploded. ‘It makes no sense. You don’t need the money!’

‘Yes, I do,’ she said. ‘More than you know. And I’ll tell you something: I will _not_ go gently in that good night. I _will_ decide my own fate.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I just have to do this.’

‘Don’t,’ he sighed. ‘Even if you are serious, you’re not cut out for this. These people are assholes, you know. I mean, real wastes of space.’

‘Like you?’

He smiled sadly. ‘Yeah, like me.’ He took a long drag of his cigarette. ‘I’ll see you around, Lydia.’

She marched up to him. ‘I don’t think you’re taking me quite seriously, so we’ll try this one last time: I want in. I will turn you in if you don’t help me. Now nod your head and say you understand -- there, that’s right -- and we’ll start next week. Okay?’

Stiles backed up against the car. ‘Okay,’ he said nervously.

 

~

 

‘Where’d you get the RV?’

‘Craigslist.’

Stiles stepped back and studied it. ‘It’s a bit crappy, isn’t it?’

Lydia folded her arms. ‘It’ll do its job. Fleetwood Prowler, 2000. They had the 1986 model, which was bigger, but there were bullet holes in it.’ She quirked a smile. ‘It wouldn’t really do to drive around with bullet holes.’

‘No,’ he agreed. He walked over to his car and began to take out the supplies he had procured. ‘Iodine, Sudafed, matches-- wasn’t sure if you’d want drain cleaner or not -- brake fluid...’ He paused when he saw her disapproving glare. ‘No brake fluid, then.’

Lydia opened up the door of the RV. ‘We have the weekend to do this. I have some papers to grade, but they can wait until Sunday night. Did you bring food?’

Stiles shifted uncomfortably. ‘I just thought we could go get take out, maybe some curly fries...’

‘Stiles, we’re in the middle of a forest. We’re going to be wearing hazmat suits and we’ll stink of chemicals. We can’t just order a Dominos!’

‘Good, I don’t even like Dominos.’

Lydia slapped a hand to her head. ‘Luckily, I know you well enough not to trust you on the food front. Remember the trip to San Francisco?’ She led Stiles into the RV and proudly showed him the counter, where on one side there was disgustingly worthy quinoa bowls and ready-made burritos, along with iced tea, and on the other counter, scrubbed clean, was a veritable laboratory set up.

‘Did you put all that food on display, knowing I’d forget?’ he scowled.

‘Yes, that’s precisely it. Now you put it away for me and I’ll get everything ready for the cook.’

‘Fine!’ he snapped. ‘Oh, and I didn’t forget the food for San Francisco. Scott ate it and I took the fall for him.’ He turned to her. ‘That’s what friends do.’

She paused. ‘Stiles, you stole a signed baseball from him to buy some crack. Real friends don’t do that. They give you stuff like framed sentimental photos.’

‘Yeah, if they wanna be cheap,’ he retorted.

‘Shut up,’ she said. She pulled off her shirt and folded it neatly, placing it on the counter.

‘Wait, what?’ said Stiles.

‘Can you stop staring at me, please?’ she said, and promptly dropped her pants.

‘Ah--ah!’ He scrambled to the seating area and grabbed a cushion, holding it in front of his crotch.

She sighed. ‘Really?’

‘Why are you getting naked, dammit!’

‘Stiles. This top? Vera Wang. My jeans? Balmain. Now, I may not have much money these days, but I take care of my clothes, okay?’ She put her hands on her hips - he held the cushion closer. ‘Anyway, we don’t want to go home smelling of meth, do we? Now I’m just going to put on my hazmat suit, and you can too.’ She gave him a critical look. ‘If it’ll fit around that.’

 

~

 

The star-spattered expanse of sky overhead was beautiful. Lydia sat in a deckchair, wrapped up warmly. The glow of light from the RV softened the harsh planes of Stiles’s face, made the mean contours shaped by drug use complement his handsome face.

‘The last batch’ll be done within a couple hours,’ said Stiles. ‘I can get a sample to Hale and get something set up.’

‘As easy as that,’ she said. ‘I can’t think why I didn’t do this years ago.’

He stared at her. ‘You’re serious?’

‘Stiles, please. The whole thing is sordid.’ She rested her chin in her hands. ‘But I’m good at it. That's all that matters.'

‘You’re good at everything you do,’ he said, his voice sincere. ‘You could use your smarts to make money in a different way.’

‘I’ve never worried about money. That was until my parents cut me off and I realised how hard it is to, you know, live on a teacher’s salary.’

He quickened. ‘They cut you off? Why?’

‘Don’t sound so excited,’ she said. ‘They lost a lot of money in the recession. I didn’t _do_ anything. I didn’t screw up.’

The smile faded from his face. ‘Right.’ He was silent for some time, scrutinising his fingernails. ‘Did… he look well?’

She didn’t need to ask whom he meant. ‘Yes. He’s doing very well.’

‘Did he mention me at all? Apart from being a waste of space, that is.’

Lydia softened. It was easy to point out Stiles’s flaws, but it was like kicking a puppy. He just took it, and came back for more. ‘I don’t understand why you do it to him. Why you do it to _yourself_.’

He gave an unhappy smile. ‘No, then.’  


~

 

‘Just try not to look at it in your arm if it distresses you,’ said the nurse. ‘Remember that it’s helping you.’

‘By pumping chemicals into my body which will kill off good tissue, too. Right.’ Lydia leaned back in the chair morosely.

‘That’s not quite -- do you want me to get you a pamphlet?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m here, aren’t I? I considered all the options and still I’m here. That tells you something, right?’

Allison placed her hand onto Lydia’s. ‘She’s just trying to be helpful.’

‘I know,’ said Lydia, chastened.

‘And you know I’m here for you, no matter what.’ Allison’s eyes were rimmed with red - she’d been crying again. It seemed all she did lately was cry. Lydia tried not to resent that; tried to tell herself that it wasn’t Allison seeing her as weak as pathetic; it was simply that grief and pain was etching itself into her face. She was frightened for her friend. She could face down the worst criminals, but she couldn’t save Lydia from her own body.

‘I know,’ she murmured again.

‘But I wish -- won’t you accept something, anything towards the cost of all this? You know we’re more than happy to help you.’

‘Allison, I’ve told you. It’s fine. My parents are going to take care of it.’

‘Surely they’re still struggling--’

‘Stop worrying. Please.’ She grasped Allison’s hand. ‘I told you, something came up. I can take care of myself, I promise.'

 

~

 

Derek Hale was having a bad day. And a bad day in the drugs business meant that day went along the lines of three of his people being arrested, losing a batch of meth in yet another raid and news of his terrifying uncle coming back to town. He needed peace, time alone, a day spent gathering his faculties together and working out what the hell he was going to do.

In short, he was not in the mood for Stiles Stillinski. He turned and walked away when he saw who was at the door, and returned to the couch where he was playing _Grand Theft Auto_. He never touched the product, and Stiles couldn’t help but admire his lean physique and good looks. Derek Hale took care of himself.

‘Hey, so… yo. Yeah,’ said Stiles. ‘How are you?’

Derek grunted. ‘What do you want?’

‘Crystal.’

‘How much do you want?’

Stiles grinned. ‘I’m not buying. I’m selling.’ He reached into his pocket and tossed the sample he’d prepared to Derek. ‘Tell me that’s not the finest you’ve seen.’

Derek stared at the sample, then at Stiles, who flinched. He could never tell exactly what was on Derek’s mind. He had the best poker face. A dreamy poker face, but one all the same.

‘I’m sorry about what happened with Isaac. Man, that was unfair.’ Stiles edged into the room, where a rottweiller sat glaring at him, waiting for a command from its master.  ‘It was so sudden and all…’

‘Yeah, I heard about how you conveniently got away.’ Derek stood up. ‘He thinks _somebody_ must have ratted him out.’ He scratched his head as he paced the floor. ‘I never had you down as a rat, Stillinski.’

‘Isaac said that? He said that I ratted him out?’ he said increduously. ‘I ain’t no rat!’ He shook a finger at Derek. ‘You -- you just tell Isaac that he’d better watch out the next time I see him, ‘cos I’m going to fuck him up so badly!’

Derek shrugged. ‘Why don’t you tell him yourself?’

Stiles paled as he heard movement from the stairs, and Isaac Lahey came into view. ‘Go ahead,’ said Isaac. ‘Fuck me up badly.’

‘Hey,’ said Stiles. ‘Um. Good to see you again. How are things?’ He shuddered as Isaac came close, staring at him intimidatingly. Isaac could be a nice guy, but he was known to flip out at small things. Like being locked up.

Derek tossed the bag with the meth sample to Isaac. ‘Look at that. Has this little bitch cooked anything of that calibre with you?’

Isaac curled his lip. ‘No. This isn’t his.’

Derek slammed him against the wall, knocking all the breath from his body. ‘Where did you get this, Stiles? Are you trying to set me up?’ The dog stood up and began barking. ‘Quiet!’ he snarled.

Stiles swallowed. ‘No! I swear, it’s all legit. I just-- I came here to make a deal.’ He pushed against Derek’s chest. ‘Do you want -- are you interested?’

‘Who made this? Are you involved with the cartel or something?’

‘No, of course not! Geez, I don't want to _die_ , dude. It's from an associate. A really good cook, is all.’

Derek pulled him close. ‘Take me to him, won’t you?’

‘Y-yeah. Okay. I’ll… take you to her.'

Isaac scoffed. ‘ _Her_? Some skank is just muscling in on our territory?’

Derek held up a finger. ‘Stop, man. Your misogyny is not cool.’

‘Yeah, you belong in the 1950s or something,’ said Stiles. ‘You--’ He shut up when Isaac punched the wall next to him. ‘Hey, that’s your shtick. Who am I to argue?’

  
Derek nodded towards the other room. ‘Get me a pistol.’ He turned to Stiles. ‘No funny business, Stillinski. You should know better than to muscle in on Deucalion’s turf.’


End file.
